


Resplendence

by wimblydonner



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Dancing, F/F, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 16:09:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8720227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wimblydonner/pseuds/wimblydonner
Summary: Penelo dances—for Fran and for herself.





	

Penelo starts to dance.

She starts to dance before she loses her nerve, before her insecurity overtakes her, before she wonders how _Fran_ —she of the impossibly long legs and barely-contained cleavage—could want a striptease from _her_. 

Her initial movements are graceful and wide. She turns, she stretches, she sashays. She's presenting herself, _introducing_ herself to the world. Here she is, here is every last part of Penelo of Rabanastre; take her or leave her. 

Fran watches from her chair a few feet away, silent and unblinking. 

Eventually Penelo's movements turn more sensual. Not base and lurid, of course, because that's not Penelo's style, but enough to acknowledge her sexuality. Her arms glide through space and then brush across her own skin, implying something about how she might touch Fran. Never breaking her rhythm, she turns and bends her knees, just sufficient to show off her ass without interrupting her artistry. Her hips thrust, suggesting how her body might meet a lover's. 

This is what Penelo has always loved about dancing. The ceaseless motion of her limbs can capture the ebb and flow of her feelings better than concrete chunks of words. Her desire and confidence build for a moment, then recede in shyness, and her body moves in tune. 

She slips her armbands off and tosses them aside. It was now, she thought, officially a striptease. 

Even as Fran watches her, Penelo's dancing compels her to look at Fran differently, too. Now that she's stripping for her, Penelo can't pretend her interest in Fran is purely admiration or intrigue. She indulges her most basal urges and allows her eyes to travel up and down Fran's body as she begins to fantasize: to imagine her face buried in Fran's silky white hair, to feel the imagined touch of her fingers fumbling past Fran's armor and digging into her ass. 

Penelo fidgets with the zipper of her jumpsuit, lowering it to show some skin, then zipping it back up to tease. Fran's gaze is intent but unresponsive, and Penelo wonders—as she often what does—what Fran is thinking. Is Penelo's attempt at sexiness an embarrassment in comparison to the voluptuous Viera ladies? Does Fran perhaps fancy small, pale hume girls the way some chase after the women of the Wood? Or is Fran interested in _Penelo_ ; is she watching Penelo's dance for what it express about the soul and essence of her traveling companion herself? 

With a few turns of her hips, Penelo moves closer to Fran, straddling the Viera's legs. She bends her knees, rocks her hips. The zipper flutters in the space between them, like some kind of rare butterfly that promises Fran untold rewards if only she can pin it down. Fran catches it with her finger and starts to wiggle it down. 

"Uh-uh, hands off." Penelo rejects her, her own finger pushing Fran's away. 

But of course she's tickled pink to think that Fran can barely resist her. She's always feared she doesn't measure up. Fran is so much more wise—and Basch more noble, and Balthier more quick-witted—that it's hard not to feel like her own traits and virtues are insignificant in comparison. And yet here they are with Fran aspiring to be lucky enough to get with _her_. It makes Penelo happy, eager, proud. 

Horny. 

She steps away from Fran, twirls and spins. Her hands sweep gracefully from side to side, sectioning out the space in front of her, and each time they pass by her body, she finds another buckle for them to undo. And with every further buckle opened, her clothes loosen, then start to bare new patches of skin, and then barely cling to her body, then finally drop from her entirely. 

Penelo is from the streets and doesn't own any elegant lingerie like she imagines Lady Ashe does, but she put on the fanciest undergarments she does have, the sea green ones with the lacy trim and little bows. She hopes Fran likes it. She wants to be a fantasy for Fran, to become an ideal that Fran burns for even in her private fantasies and daydreams. 

Her hips are really moving now, her knees bringing her low to the ground and then back up. Each thrust, each buck of her hips feels like a sexual fantasy unto itself. She's able to forget that she's really just a cautious, gentle girl from the streets. Right now she feels powerful and commanding, like she and her body exemplify the best of womankind, like what she desires most is hers to claim. 

Her body still swinging, Penelo turns her back to Fran and unclasps her bra. Her dainty little fingers hold the garment in place, moments from releasing it entirely. "Should I?" she asks. 

"My little hume," Fran breathes, "you would torment me most horrendously if you don't." 

Penelo drops her bra to the ground. Even though she can't see, she _knows_ Fran's eyes are on her bare back, tracing her skin up and down like an uncharted continent. Fran, she understands, is so hot for her now that she would fixate on anything that even _suggests_ her bare tits. 

She turns around, covering her breasts with her hand and forearm for one moment before throwing her arm aside and baring herself to the world. Being endlessly coy doesn't really suit her. She'd rather be free and open, daring the world to accept or reject her as it pleases. 

She dances topless under Fran's watch, free and happy. By now she _knows_ that Fran wants her, and the thought quickens her step, makes her twirl another rotation. And if Fran is into her, why not put on a good show for her? 

Even as she's been stripping, Penelo's kept her tall boots on. They make her feel tall, powerful, like she's bigger than the sensitive girl from the streets. But now it's time for them to go; if she wants to truly reveal herself to Fran body and soul, she must expose what she's like without even her most treasured sources of security. 

She kicks out one leg and sets it on the armrest of Fran's chair. Her hands start undoing the boot's complicated buckles, one by one down the length. Fran stares, silent but unblinking, perhaps torn between attending to Penelo's slender leg emerging from the leather boot versus her bare chest swaying in front of her. Penelo's tits are practically in Fran's face, and Penelo likes to imagine it's utter torture for Fran not to just open her mouth and kiss or suck at them. 

Then off comes Penelo's other boot, which she rests on Fran's very shoulder to unbuckle. Being a dancer has its perks in flexibility. She wonders if Fran can feel the heat pulsing from her body, if her subtle Viera senses have picked up the scent of her arousal. Of course they must have, she reasons as she tosses her boots aside. Fran had been perceptive enough to invite Penelo to do what she wanted deep-down even before she herself understood it. 

Now it's only her panties left. She straddles Fran's lap and twirls, practically naked. Her movements are still light-hearted and breezy, rather than vulgar—a gentle rocking of the hips there, a graceful drawing of her finger just in front of Fran's cheeks as though almost to touch her. But there's a growing urgency to them, as her increasingly fervent and erratic pace signals that even this gentle desert girl is being overcome by primal desire. 

Her body passes inches from Fran's thighs, and it's all she can do not to rut herself on them, to use Fran's body like a tool to quench the need that burns painfully inside her core. Her skin is starting to flush, but she doesn't care; she _likes_ it, likes this reminder she's pushing her limits in the most carnal, physical way. She's breathing hard but far from exhausted. 

"I could keep dancing like this all night," she says. 

Fran reaches one finger up to hook in the waistband of her underwear and starts to tug it down. This time, Penelo doesn't stop her. "Indeed, my love," Fran says. "But perhaps now it is time we dance together."


End file.
